Forged In Fire: A Journey Of Rebuilding

Life. It has a way of stretching us thin, breaking us down, and testing our limits in ways we never imagined. Since the fire that took our barn on Valentine’s Day 2022 (yes, that’s how we spent the most romantic day of the year), life has felt like a constant balancing act. That day, I stood helpless as flames devoured what we had built.  The rafters fell, engulfed in black smoke as the dogs urged the herd to the corner of the field.  Neighbors and strangers were all around searching for the right words to say and all I could think was that it wasn’t just a structure—it was years of effort, sacrifice, and dreams reduced to ashes in less than an hour.

We built that barn before we ever had a house plan picked out. Priorities, right? I remember vividly the day we finished it; Bobby declared it to be like Fort Knox. I still hear his voice in my head saying, “The only thing that could take down that barn is a fire.” Sometimes, I think the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

Rebuilding the new structure has been slow—agonizingly slow. Each board nailed up feels like a tiny step forward, immediately followed by five steps backward because, of course, something else breaks or needs attention. And while the barn has been rising, so has the weight of everything else in my life. The new barn is still, technically, unfinished. It stands there, half-done, like that one person who insists on wearing socks with sandals—a constant reminder that some things take time, even if they make you cringe while you wait.

Life feels like that fire sometimes, doesn’t it? Uncontrollable, smothering, unforgiving, and consuming. The heat of it all—juggling jobs, raising children, trying to be a good mom and spouse—feels like running uphill in heels while carrying a toddler.  Some days, I question if I’m giving my kids enough, if I’m present enough as a wife, if I’m even holding it all together. On those days, I wrestle with God and wonder, did the fire ever really go out?

My relationship with God has had its ups and downs—mostly because I like control and He insists on having it. The process has been a lot like rebuilding the barn: slow, messy, and full of moments where I question if I’m even doing it right. There have been plenty of conversations where I’ve asked why He let certain things happen. Why did the barn burn? Why can’t I catch a break? Why does it feel like the only people with answers are the ones who say, “Everything happens for a reason”? (Pro tip: that is not comforting when you’re knee-deep in ashes.)

But even in the mess, I’ve learned something: progress doesn’t always look the way we want it to. It’s not always fast, or tidy, or even visible. Sometimes it’s as simple as showing up—again and again—even when it feels like nothing is happening. It’s in the small moments of grace: Bobby offering a kind word when we’re both exhausted, a hug from one of the kids when I need it most, or that one glorious moment of silence before chaos resumes.

Rebuilding—whether it’s a barn, a relationship, or your own faith—takes patience. And, if I’m being honest, patience is not my strong suit. I like visible progress, preferably yesterday. I want the barn finished, the laundry folded, and the kids to magically stop thinking “clean your room” means “stuff everything under the bed.” But God’s timeline? It’s slower, and His blueprints for my life don’t come with step-by-step instructions—or a warranty.

In previous blogs, I’ve talked about sowing seeds and waiting for the harvest. It’s a beautiful metaphor… until you’re staring at a field full of weeds wondering if you planted anything at all. But that’s life, isn’t it? The barn, though unfinished, stands as a symbol of that lesson. It’s a work in progress, just like me. Just like my marriage. Just like life itself.

And while the journey has been anything but easy, I’m hopeful. Hopeful that the work we’re putting in now—on the barn, on our businesses, on our family, in our day to day—will lead to something beautiful. Hopeful that the ashes of what was lost are making way for something better. Hopeful because I know God is in this with me, guiding me, teaching me, and probably shaking His head at my stubbornness.

So, I’ll keep building. And I hope you will too. Whatever your “barn” is—whatever fire you’re rising up from—remember that progress takes time. But it’s worth it. Keep showing up. Keep working. And keep trusting that God is in the details. Life is a work in progress, and so am I.  And so are you.